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It all made Christmas familiar and cozy again, even if it was 76 degrees and the grass was as green as the leaves of the palm trees. Even when my parents lived in town, Mom always opened the house on Christmas Eve to family as well as friends as kind of an orphan celebration. She couldn’t stand the thought of people who didn’t have people and a place to celebrate the holiday. Apparently, word got around their complex and by three o’clock every PT Cruiser and golf cart in the complex surrounded my parents’ condo. It was more than enough people for Mom to quit micromanaging the way I arranged stuffed mushrooms on the serving platters and opt out to play hostess with her friends and those who only knew her well enough to hear she was serving free food. One of those people was that man from this morning. ‘Rick, he’s here!’ I said, dragging him from the living room and into the sanctuary of the kitchen. ‘Who? He? What?’ he asked, trying to get his bearings and trying to make sense of my. A perfect place for a teenager who craved a little privacy.I entered the main house through the open French doors. The house was patterned after an Italian villa, with tile floors, high ceilings, tile roof, and about 5000 square feet. As I walked in I spotted my mother across the room at the coffee service. She had her back to me. I stopped for a moment to study her. She was 5 feet, eight inches tall, with shoulder-length blond hair, wearing a white silk blouse, and a light peach colored silk skirt that accented her beautiful rounded bottom. The skirt ended about three inches above her gorgeous knees. She had long, fantastic legs, sheathed in the sheerest light taupe nylon, and three-inch high-heeled strapped sandals that matched the skirt exactly. She looked at least ten years younger than her 38 years.I moved swiftly across the room but was given away by the mirror above the buffet. I could see she had spotted me as I came up behind her and wrapped my arms around her waist from.
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